


Maybe Destiny Was Just The Friends We Made Along The Way

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief, Healing Is a Slow Process, Long Talks On The Beach, One Philosophical Monologue That Hopefully Makes Sense, Several Cups of Tea, Spoilers for Episode 34 of Campaign 2, The start of an interesting friendship, Yasha Will Be Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 12:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: “I think fate put you in my path for a reason.”Yasha flinched, her book sliding off her lap and into the sand, almost upsetting her cup of tea. “No,” she said, shaking her head almost violently. “Not fate, not destiny.” The book had opened to the page where the four-leaf clover had been pressed, the one Molly had given her. Her fingers brushed it as she picked up the book and placed the rose between the pages before shutting the book tightly, fingers pressing hard into the cover. “I don’t believe in that.”





	Maybe Destiny Was Just The Friends We Made Along The Way

**Author's Note:**

> During Critical Role Relationship week (That seems like so long ago now), I wrote the (then unnamed) place where Jester's mom worked as having a private beach, because that seemed like a thing a fancy place on the coast would have. I've kept it here for narrative purposes.

The beds at the Lavish Chateau were the most comfortable that Yasha had ever lain on in her entire life, which wasn’t saying a lot really, since she was used to sleeping on bedrolls and the hard ground more often than not. But they were even more comfortable than the beds at the Pillow Trove had been, which was all Yasha had to compare them to. And after the day she had had, running into the Nein again, fighting water elementals and all that had occurred afterwards, meeting Jester’s mom and having to be social, well, Yasha should have fallen asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow. Instead, regardless of the fact that she felt wrung out both physically and mentally, her mind refused to quiet and her muscles felt like a bowstring strung too tightly.

With a tired sigh, Yasha sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. There was a heaviness in the back of her mind, her obligation to the Stormlord having gained more weight as the day had worn on. She could almost be glad for that burden, that excuse to leave. It wasn’t that she regretted staying, regretted helping. It was just that Yasha hadn’t meant to meet up with the Nein, and indeed when she had stepped into the Wayfarer’s Cove, all that had been on her mind had been the need for a drink. Seeing everyone at the bar had felt like an ambush, their eyes on her and their delighted smiles and worried expressions like a trap she hadn’t been able to escape from. Her own smile back had felt pained and forced, especially when she found herself scanning the bar for the one person who she knew wouldn’t be there. She knew where Molly was. He was still right where she had left him.

No. Enough of that. Yasha laced up her boots and strapped on her sword. She would go down to the docks and wait until morning, then book passage on a ship and head… well, wherever she was headed, to do whatever the Stormlord needed her to do. She could fill her head with that task, and another, and another, and eventually her grief would fade. She had dealt with the death of someone she had cared for before, and she had survived it.

Instead of the door, her feet lead her toward the window, her hands parting the heavy curtains. Two moons shone on the sea below, one bright and one dim, but it was not their light that drew Yasha’s gaze. Someone had made a small fire on the strip of private beach that belonged to the Lavish Chateau, and there was a tall figure sitting near it. Yasha wasn’t entirely certain, but it looked like the person had pink hair.

“Caduceus,” Yasha murmured to herself as she left the room and made her way out of the Lavish Chateau. She had no reason to say goodbye to him. She could easily just walk down the road and keep walking until she was at the docks. Sure, she was curious about why he was awake and what he was doing on the beach, but that was no reason to disrupt her plans. And yet she was walking down the path that lead to the beach, her boots sinking slightly into the sand. The only sounds were the shifting of sand, the gentle rush of the surf, and the sound of the breeze rustling the beach grass. There were roses near the path, wild tangles of fragrant pink blossoms, and Yasha carefully picked one before making her way to the small campfire.

Caduceus wasn’t facing her, and for a moment Yasha simply stood there, not wanting to break the relative silence, not wanting to disturb the peace.

“You can sit down, if you like.” Caduceus’s voice was a slow, good natured rumble, like thunder far off in the distance. “I couldn’t sleep and, well, the ocean is just as lovely at night as it is during the day.”

Yasha made her way closer to the fire, put down her pack, and sat down a respectable distance from Caduceus. There was a kettle and two teacups resting on a flat rock nearby, next to a small pile of pink roses and deep red rosehips.

“Were you expecting company?” Yasha asked, gesturing to the second cup.

“Expecting? No, but you never can tell when someone might stop by and need a good cup of tea. Would you care for some? I’ve made plenty.” Caduceus was reaching for the kettle even as he spoke, the teacup seeming very small in his large hand.

“Is it the dead people tea I keep hearing about? I would love to try some before I go.”

Caduceus chuckled softly. “Your friends seem awfully hung up on that one detail. Yes, the lavender and chamomile were grown on the graves of a relatively sedate half-elven family. The blackberries, well, those grew wherever they pleased. The roses are from the beach, so I can’t say if anyone is buried underneath them or not.”

“The world is very big and very old,” Yasha said as she took the cup Caduceus held out to her. “There’s bound to be more than a few bodies beneath our feet, I would think.”

Caduceus’s face lit up. “You understand! I thought you might.” He picked up his teacup, cradling it in his large hands. “All tea could be dead people tea.”

Yasha closed her eyes and breathed in the steam from the tea before taking a sip. “It smells like a garden,” she said. “And it tastes like one too. This is lovely.”

“Thank you.” Caduceus took a sip from his own cup. “It’s relaxing after a long day when you can’t seem to wind down, and to me it tastes like home, which is also nice.”

That was something she had wanted to ask about. “Fjord said you grew up in a graveyard, is that right? So the graveyard was also a garden?”

“I grew up in a temple dedicated to the Wildmother, which was, yes, in the middle of a graveyard. The land is blessed by her divine touch.” Caduceus smiled, looking fond. “There are flowers there that I haven’t seen anywhere else. Not that I’ve been many other places.”

“I wish I could have seen it,” Yasha said softly. All she had seen during her time being kidnapped was the inside of the cart, the inside of a cell, the inside of her closed eyes as she had tried to hold out against the pain of torture. “I love flowers.”

Yasha took another sip of her tea before setting the cup down and bringing out her book of flowers, turning the pages to find a good spot for the rose she had picked, and didn’t flinch away when Caduceus edged closer for a better look. It was odd how she didn’t feel as uneasy as she normally did around relative strangers. There was an aura of peace and calm around him, so much like the quiet at the eye of a storm that Yasha couldn’t help but feel relaxed.

“That’s quite the collection,” Caduceus said as she slowly turned the pages. “Columbine, love-lies-bleeding, mountain laurel, honeysuckle…”

“I don’t know all their names,” Yasha said. “I picked them to help me remember my travels, mostly.”

“Are any of them from your home?”

Yasha shook her head. “No. I’m from the east, from—“ She paused. If Caduceus was traveling with the rest of the Nein, it probably meant he could be trusted with certain information, if Nott or one of the others hadn’t told him already. “I’m from Xhorhas. Hardly anything grows there. It’s not—“ Yasha gestured broadly with one hand. “It’s not like here. It’s not a forgiving land.”

“You’re from the east.” Caduceus repeated, and the sudden quiet intensity in his voice made Yasha raise her head from the book. “Out past the wastes? Where the blind worms writhe and crawl?”

Yasha felt her eyes widen a little. She hadn’t told anyone about her dreams of home, about the wastes, about the worms. “Have you seen it then?”

“You’re not the only one who dreams. Not just me, my whole family. I was the last to leave my home. Something is threatening our woods, and the answer is to the east, at least, I think so. I’ve been trying to receive some guidance from the Wildmother, but it’s been difficult for me to hear her voice since I left the woods.” Caduceus gave her a smile that looked almost relieved. “I think fate put you in my path for a reason.”

Yasha flinched, her book sliding off her lap and into the sand, almost upsetting her cup of tea. “No,” she said, shaking her head almost violently. “Not fate, not destiny.” The book had opened to the page where the four-leaf clover had been pressed, the one Molly had given her. Her fingers brushed it as she picked up the book and placed the rose between the pages before shutting the book tightly, fingers pressing hard into the cover. “I don’t believe in that.”

Caduceus hummed thoughtfully. “You said that before, in the bar. May I ask why?”

Yasha reached for her cup of tea and knocked it back like it was the alcohol she suddenly wished it was. The heat of the tea burned her throat, a welcome, distracting pain. “Do you have anything stronger than this?” She asked, holding out the empty teacup.

“You mean alcohol?” Caduceus shook his head. “I don’t have a taste for it. Though Nott keeps trying.” He took the empty cup from her hand and refilled it before giving it back to her.

Yasha wrapped her hands around the cup and stared down at her tea, noticing for the first time that it was purple in color, probably from the blackberries. “The dreams I have—we have… that’s not destiny speaking. It’s the gods telling us where to go or what to do. Fulfilling their will, that’s duty, or service, or devotion, whatever you want to call it. Molly was the one who always talked about destiny and fate, but I don’t think even he believed in that, not really. And I can’t. I refuse.” Yasha’s hands tightened around the teacup as she looked Caduceus in the eye. “I refuse to believe it was Molly’s destiny to live so short a life only to die out in the middle of nowhere, trying to save us.”

There was more to it than that, of course there was. There was the guilt that sat heavy in her heart that Molly had been fighting the slavers at all, that Yasha hadn’t been strong enough to stop herself and the others from being kidnapped in the first place. There was the anger at her god for not answering her silent call for help when she had needed him the most, the rage she felt at not being the one to deliver the killing blow to Molly’s murderer. She had been bound and helpless and she had heard the fight going on outside the cart and she had been able to do _nothing._

In the instant before the tears blurred her vision, before she turned her head away to let her hair obscure her face and give her the illusion of privacy, she saw Caduceus look at her with complete understanding, and for a second she hated him for his insight even as she was grateful for it, because it meant that she didn’t have to say any of what was in her heart out loud. Then all she had room for in her head was her grief, and her tears fell into her tea and onto her book of flowers and onto the sand. It was a storm of emotion swift and sudden as a summer cloudburst and over just as quickly, leaving her feeling wrung out and exhausted.

There was silence afterwards, and somehow the silence wasn’t awkward, as it would have been in front of someone like Fjord or Jester or Caleb. It was a comforting sort of silence, one she could wrap herself up in. She waited for Caduceus to say something, but the only sounds were the ocean and the crackling of the fire. When she lifted her head to look at him again, she saw that he was staring out at the ocean, only turning to look at her when he caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Did that help?”

Yasha thought about the question a moment, then nodded. “A little.” She took a sip of her tea, made salty from her tears and not caring, not wanting to waste it.

Caduceus nodded. “That’s good then. Is there anything I can do, to help ease your pain?” Caduceus’s voice was as soft as the rustling of the beach grass in the breeze. “It’s all right if the answer is no. Just to be clear,”

Yasha hadn’t been expecting the question and did not have an answer, so asked a question of her own instead. “What do you believe? About destiny, I mean, and death.”

Caduceus took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “Do you want to be comforted, or do you want the truth?”

That was interesting. “The truth isn’t comforting?”

Caduceus took a sip of his tea. “In my personal experience? Some of the grieving find more solace in kind words and platitudes than philosophy. I wouldn’t judge you either way, I just thought I should ask.”

“The truth then. Please.”

Caduceus nodded as if he had known her answer all along. “All right.” He finished his tea in two long swallows, then set the cup aside. He took up his staff and laid it across his lap, fingers caressing the wood.

“I don’t believe fate governs everything,” Caduceus said slowly. “There wouldn’t be much point in life if everything was predestined, if we only had the illusion of choice. But I believe some things are fated, that certain people come into your life or cross your path just when you need them most, and it can’t all be coincidence.”

Caduceus laced his hands together in his lap. “I don’t believe that people are put on this earth with their days already numbered. The Raven Queen doesn’t know how long the thread of someone’s life will be until it snaps. The Knowing Mistress doesn’t know how many chapters the book of your life will contain until it is done being written. Some people will die old in their beds and some will die before they have the chance to live. There are those that will fall because they ran into someone bigger or faster or stronger then they were. Some will die because they run into people like you. Some will die because they run into people like me.”

A large green beetle, shining like a jewel in the firelight, crept out of the staff and climbed up Caduceus’s hand. He smiled and gently stroked the beetle with one long finger, putting Yasha in mind of Caleb petting his cat. “And sometimes people live because they run into someone like you, or someone like me. Maybe it balances out, in the end. I’d like to think it does.” Caduceus looked up at Yasha. “Did that help? I could say that every death has a purpose, if that would be comforting to you instead.”

Yasha considered for a moment as she watched the beetle climb over Caduceus’s large knuckles. “I think I needed to hear it, regardless. Not the ‘every death has a purpose thing,’ but what you said before that.”

Caduceus nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help,” he said as the beetle crawled back into his staff. “Some deaths _do_ serve a purpose though. There were several very aggressive bandits that tried to rob the temple a few seasons ago, and the roses seemed terribly grateful for the new mulch afterwards.”

It wasn’t a joke, Yasha could tell Caduceus wasn’t kidding, but there was a hint of dry and dark amusement in his tone that made Yasha’s lips quirk up at the edges, just for a moment.

“Molly would have liked you,” Yasha said suddenly, because it was true.

Caduceus chuckled. “From the stories your friends told me, I think you’re right about that. I wish I could have known him while he was alive.”

Yasha finished her tea and looked up at the sky, judging the hours until dawn. For all that she had been eager to leave hours ago, she felt strangely reluctant to leave it now. “I have some time before I have to go. Would you like to hear about the first time Molly and I met?”

“If you feel comfortable telling me, I would love to hear it.” Caduceus reached for the kettle again. “More tea?”

Yasha nodded and held out her cup. “Please.”

********

Yasha walked down the road to the docks hours later, as the sun was just starting to lighten the sky. There was still a hollow, raw place in her heart, but she knew that would only heal with time, not just with a long talk, a few stories, and several cups of tea. Still, she felt easier in her head, just the tiniest bit, and she wasn’t going to take that feeling for granted. Instead she was just glad that she had looked out the window earlier that night instead of leaving right away, whether that had been caused by what some would call fate or destiny, or what Yasha thought of as the nudge of the divine, or just regular coincidence. The result was what had been important.

In her bag, a wooden container of tea jostled gently against a book full of flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> The *instant* Yasha said she didn't believe in destiny, I started writing what would eventually become this fic. Caduceus and Yasha are both quiet people who serve gods with Tempest as a domain and you know I'll find ways to play with that at some point, I am sure. 
> 
> Alternate Title for this fic: The Way Destiny Lies
> 
> Alternate Alternate Title for this fic: The Calm and the Storm
> 
> I'm angel-ascending over on Tumblr if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


End file.
